Newbones
by Max Fresh
Summary: Gaster is a deeply disturbed individual. He is also a father...?
1. Sansbasket

Gaster hummed contentedly as he finished packing the picnic lunch he had prepared. It was nice and hot now, and wrapped in several layers of fabric to keep it that way for as long as possible. At the very least, it wouldn't freeze before lunchtime; his calculations had confirmed this. Now all he had to pack was Sans.

He froze where he stood and glanced around the kitchen. Where was Sans? He couldn't remember where he had left the baby skeleton.

"Sans?" He knew there would be no answer, but he called anyway. "Sans, where are you?"

He went into the living room, and couldn't find Sans in there either. He checked under the table, behind the large and dangerous machine of questionable purpose that he kept across from the couch, and then lifted up the couch cushions to look in there. Nothing but money.

"SANS" he screamed, and flipped the couch over with a forceful sweep of his arms. As coins jangled across the carpet, Gaster rushed toward the kitchen to search the cabinets and refrigerator. Halfway there, a motionless blob of white caught his eye.

"Ah. There you are." He approached the table to see Sans sitting exactly where he left him. The skeleton's body was roughly the size of a guinea pig, with a head nearly twice as big. He was lying on his belly on top of a hot dog bun, chin resting on the table.

"Are you finished being a skele-bun, Sans?" Gaster cooed. "My, you don't even fit in there anymore. Come on, let's go for a walk." He scooped up the tiny skeleton in both hands and began to carry him to the kitchen.

Gaster had dressed the baby in little white one-piece pajamas made of the softest material known to monsters. Even now, he marvelled at how soft it was - soft enough for a skeleton to feel, despite not having any skin. He had made it in the lab, and couldn't resist making himself a sweater with the material. He wore that sweater every day, and Sans seemed to enjoy wearing his pajamas.

Gaster's thoughts were interrupted as Sans suddenly squirmed out of his grasp and dropped to the table. He wriggled his way back onto the hot dog bun and nestled there comfortably. The expression on his face remained constant, a vacant grin and eyes staring distantly in slightly different directions.

"Sans," Gaster scolded gently, "you've been on your bun for far too long. You need some mental stimulation." He grasped the baby again, more firmly this time. "Come. It's time for a walk."

Gaster strode into the kitchen and placed Sans on the counter beside the still-warm basket. He draped a small blue blanket over the bundle of food, then carefully positioned Sans on top of it. "That should keep you nice and warm," he murmured. He folded the blanket over the tiny body, leaving the face free to gaze out at the world. At last, it was time to go.

Balancing the weight of the basket on his arm, Gaster threw open the door and slammed it behind them. He paused for dramatic effect and screeched into the cold morning air, "PEOPLE OF SNOWDIN! I, THE BRILLIANT DOCTOR GASTER, AM ONCE AGAIN PRESENTING MY GLORIOUS OFFSPRING TO THE WORLD!"

His bellows echoed through the now fully awakened town, but were met with silence. A few unaccustomed monsters turned to stare incredulously in the skeletons' direction.

So began the day's outing. Gaster approached every Snowdin resident in sight to show off his son, raving about how adorable Sans was and how similar he looked to his father. There was no small amount of scientific gibberish thrown in. Most people agreed that Sans was cute, albeit unsettlingly unresponsive. Gaster assured them that he was just lazy. Nobody knew if it was the truth; nobody knew much of anything about Sans' origins. And so they merely smiled and nodded until Gaster left them alone.

When at last he had spoken to everyone in town, Gaster peeked at the basket to assess Sans' mental state. Much to his dismay, the little skeleton had exactly the same expression on his face. It seemed that social interactions would not be sufficiently stimulating.

No matter, thought Gaster. There are still plenty of hours left in the day. He walked out of town and crossed the rope bridge leading into the forest. "I'll get your attention yet, my little Sans," he said, and with one hand he stroked his tiny son's skull lovingly. Sans' smile widened a bit, and his eyesockets fluttered blissfully. Gaster chuckled in response and continued through the trees, the snow crunching beneath his feet.

Gaster knew what to do. He was a scientist. He could solve any problem; his brilliant mind would not be bested by the whims of an infant such as Sans. The answer to this conundrum was obvious: puzzles. Gaster himself could not resist a good puzzle, so surely it would provide ample stimulation for his son.

Luckily for Gaster, spikes were out of style. Sans was very fragile, as Gaster's attempts to raise his HP above one point had failed. The latest craze among puzzle makers was currently the classic ice puzzle. It would be the perfect way to get Sans to move and have some degree of amusement.

It didn't take long for Gaster to find a patch of ice with switches installed. He set down the basket and lifted out his precious bundle of bones, placing him on the ice tenderly. Sans sat on his belly with the same blank smile, utterly motionless. Gaster waited. His eyes were fixed on the baby skeleton before him, and a wide smile remained steady on his face. After a few moments, he reached out and slowly pushed Sans with one finger. His mandible softly scraped across the ice several inches and stopped. Gaster kept staring, smiling.

Sans still refused to show any signs of activity, physical or mental.

At laster, Gaster decided to do the work himself. He folded the little blue blanket and positioned it under Sans to prevent scraping. Then he pushed, gently at first, with enough force to slide the baby over the ice and onto a switch. Still not enough stimulation. With a gentle tug of magic, he jerked Sans across the ice at thrice the speed. He was starting to enjoy this. He propelled Sans in all directions at excessive speeds, and the baby never protested.

Gaster was growing tired of this. He had known the solution to the puzzle from the start, and he could only slide his infant son around it for so long. He used Sans to activate the switches in the right order to finish the puzzle. With a final motion of his hand, he pushed the baby over the full length of the frozen pond and into a snow drift, head-first.

"Wasn't that fun, Sans?" Gaster cried as he walked to where he last saw him. He dug his bony hands into the snow drift until he found the baby buried several feet in. He pulled him out and shook the powdery snow off to see if there was any change.

Sans' eyes still did not focus. Boy, was that little guy lazy.

Thoroughly frustrated by this development, Gaster carried his son back to the basket and laid him down in it. Then he realized that he had forgotten the blanket. He leaned in close and stared intensely at Sans for a moment, then spun around and hurried off to fetch his son's favorite blanket. It was covered in snow, but not nearly as deep in it as Sans had been. He shook it off and carried it back in a rush, for there was snow time to lose.

When he got back to the basket, something was different about it. He peered inside, his tiny white pupils searching with intense scrutiny. The basket was emptier somehow. Setting Sans to the side, he reached in and felt for the picnic lunch he had packed. Sure enough, it was gone.

"Sans," he said quietly, voice wavering a bit. "Did you eat all twenty-nine of those hot dogs?"

A low chuckle rose from beside the basket. Gaster turned to see Sans lying on his belly as usual, but with a wider grin. Then he sounded one clear syllable, in distinct Comic Sans, the first word he had ever spoken.

"Dunk."


	2. Origins

That night, Gaster sat in the lab of his home's basement writing Sans' daily progress report. Sans had grown a bit since the hot dog incident, but not much. He seemed to have widened, and was quite a bit heavier. Gaster had set him on the desk for observational purposes, as well as moral support. The baby functioned well as a paperweight.

 _Entry number 100_ , Gaster wrote. _Sans is exhibiting exceptional appetite, but very little growth. Responds to tactile stimuli only occasionally_. He turned to stare intensely at the motionless infant. Sans' skull was resting in a shallow bowl of ketchup. Though his expression was the same as usual, his eyes had drifted farther out of focus. Gaster watched as the ketchup slowly seeped in through Sans' teeth. He seemed to be enjoying it, and the scientist took note of this.

When Gaster finished writing the report, he sighed heavily and rested his head on the desk beside his son. Sans was supposed to be developing faster than this, he thought. Where had he gone wrong?

Gaster had never really wanted to be a father. But when Asgore requested that he develop a procedure for creating an entirely new monster from a single parent, the thought had intrigued him. Of course, the king only asked because he was lonely and desperate for familial relations, but this did not concern Gaster. The scientist only thought of the possibilities of having children of his own. They could be scientists just like him. It would be like having more of him around.

And then Sans happened. He loved the little guy, and he did look quite a bit like his father, but he was far too lazy to be as great a scientist as Gaster. Unless he had the right motivation - a stimulus to hold his attention and force him to be more active. Then Gaster got a brilliant idea.

"Sans," he started. He turned his head, still on the desk, to look the baby in the face. "It has been one hundred days and you have shown INSUFFICIENT PROGRESS!" He whipped himself upward and threw his arms in the air, scattering the papers on his desk not weighed down by Sans. "So I have made the decision to create a NEW AND BETTER CHILD," he proclaimed. Sans' eyesockets narrowed the tiniest bit in response. Gaster patted him on the head in an attempt to placate him. "You're going to have a little brother, Sans." The guinea pig-sized skeleton closed his eyes and continued to osmote ketchup through his smile.

Yes, thought Gaster. This one will be perfect. He took out a fresh sheet of paper and began scribbling furiously. "First I need to write the genetic code," he muttered, mostly to himself. "More sophisticated, and energetic. More majuscules!" His speech dissolved into incoherent mumbling. Sans' eyes moved, to an imperceptible degree, in the direction of his father. Gaster's hands shook with barely controlled enthusiasm.

For hours into the night, Gaster worked to create the perfect genetic code. Sans eventually finished his bowl of ketchup and his eyes closed, very gradually, until he fell asleep. Gaster took no notice of this. His excitement did not wane in the slightest as he wrote without stopping.

At last, he was finished. "It's ready," he whispered. On the paper before him was every character needed to create the perfect font. "Papyrus." He rose from the desk, cackling madly with satisfaction, and ran off to gather ingredients from elsewhere in the house.

Sans was awakened by this sudden outburst. He sat on his belly, completely motionless, as his father went through the house above like a whirlwind. The sounds of cabinets slamming shut and coins jingling and all kinds of crazed rummaging filtered through the ceiling. At last, the scientist returned with his arms full of supplies. He unceremoniously dumped them on the lab's counter and set to work on the base solution.

He realized that Sans was still on the desk, and whirled around to face him. "Would you like to watch, Sans?" he asked as several containers of probably vital ingredients rolled onto the floor behind him. He scooped up the tiny skeleton and gingerly placed him on the clear side of the counter. Sans rested on his belly with his limbs splayed across the clean white surface as Gaster went back to work.

Gaster combined various unknown substances of his own creation in a large bowl decorated with cartoon bones. An enormous grin split his face like the cracks in his skull as he stirred vigorously with a wooden spoon. As he worked, he thought it best to keep Sans engaged by speaking to him.

"I was created in a lab too, you know," he said to the unresponsive baby. Some of the solution spilled out of the bowl as he stirred. "And there were NO ADVERSE CONSEQUENCES WHATSOEVER!" he screamed, turning to face a jar of dust in the corner of the room.

He added a few more ingredients to the bowl and stirred harder. "I will be a better father to you boys. Nothing like my own father..." He recalled the way his father would work in the lab for days on end, screeching and moving erratically. Gaster had never been the same since the fatal kerning accident that took his father's life.

"This should be good," he cried as he slammed the bowl down with finality. "I used the same formula as for you, Sans," he started as he fished through the pile of supplies. "But this is only the base. I will be making some crucial adjustments this time around." He found an almost-clean jar with residual marinara sauce in it and started to pour the solution in. "Normally I would change only one variable, but I do not have the re-sauces to care for more than two children!" He winked towards Sans, who chuckled reflexively and closed one eyesocket to mimic him.

"What this next one needs is some determination." Gaster opened a nearby drawer and produced a flask. He screwed the cap off and dumped the entire contents into the jar, turning the solution a deep red. "And to make him stronger..." He tossed the flask behind him and grabbed a jug of milk from the pile. "Some STRONG BONES!" He giggled as he poured the milk into the jar.

Sans slowly focused his eyes on the scene before him with something resembling curiosity.

Gaster closed the jar and shook it, then moved to what looked like a coffee maker on the end of the counter. It was, in fact, a coffee maker. He had found it at the dump. Opening the top, he inserted the paper with the Papyrus font on it as a coffee filter. He poured the contents of the jar in and positioned it to collect the "coffee".

He pushed the button and the solution started brewing. With a crazed grin on his typeface, he turned to Sans and stared. He stared and stared, his eyes locked on the chubby white bundle as the second one brewed. Sans had one eye on Gaster and the other on the coffee maker.

The machine beeped and deposited the hot red mixture into the sauce jar. Gaster gasptered and grasptered the jar in his eagerly paternal hands. He presented the jar to Sans who, miraculously enough, finally seemed willing to pay attention to something. Gaster had solved two problems at once. He was so proud of himself.


	3. Incubation

Gaster gradually woke up. As he regained consciousness, he realized that he was seated next to the counter with his head planted leadenly on the surface. His arms, resting in errant puddles of solution, were cradling the sauce jar repurposed to incubate his second son. He reluctantly lifted his head and looked to where Sans was sleeping in a peaceful little heap.

He had no idea how long he had been sleeping. His power naps could last for several days, depending on how long he kept himself awake. He usually kept going for three days at least, as sleep interfered with his valuable science time. Science time was all the time.

Science time. "I need to get to work," Gaster mumbled. Still half asleep, he glanced at the clock on the wall. It served no purpose when he had lost his temporal bearings. It could have been 11 am or pm. It didn't matter much to Gaster.

"The Core..." His head fell limply to the countertop again. A moment passed and he jolted back upright. "The CORE," he yelled. "THE CORE NEEDS ME!" He got to his feet and stumbled a bit with residual sleep. He began to turn to the door but stopped himself. The boys. Gaster gazed at the jar of murky red liquid. It had begun to move, but did not have a solid form yet. He looked next to Sans, who was now fully awake and partially attentive. Only partially.

"Take care of your brother while I'm away, Sans," Gaster murmured. He stroked the baby's skull gently. Sans' grin widened very slowly.

Seeing that all was well, Gaster whipped around and slammed the door open. It rebounded on its hinges to slam itself shut as he left for his other lab.

The room was still. Sans' grin remained widened. Gradually, his white pupils found their way to the jar sitting a few feet away. Gaster's words echoed in Sans' little skull. _Take care of your brother._

Moments passed. The baby was completely motionless. His mostly vacant eyes observed as the contents of the jar swirled in the beginnings of life. An amorphous white blob of magic was forming in the center. Take care of your brother. Sans wriggled his way towards the jar and stopped when it was within inches of his face. _Your brother._

Something finally clicked. Sans' eyes twinkled with something like understanding. "Butter," he grunted. He squirmed until his tiny body was in direct contact with the jar. He wrapped his stubby limbs around it, as if hugging and protecting it at the same time. His cheekbone rested against the warm glass, his eyes fixed on the precious form within.

As if in response to this development, the gently glowing shape began to move. It wiggled much like the fully formed skeleton baby. Sans watched as his brother, now somewhat solidified, moved closer inside the jar. Separated only by the glass, the two shared a sort of mutual contentment.

Sans chuckled. "Butter." His eyes relaxed into their default position, staring into the far distance. As many minutes passed, his eyesockets drooped shut. He slept soundly, wrapped around the jar. A wide grin still lingered on his chubby face.


	4. Setting high standards

The lab was quiet. Sans slept on the counter in a little blob, still sitting upright and hugging the spaghetti sauce jar that contained his butter. It was a large jar, for sauce - Gaster always bought his sauce in bulk - but not quite large enough for Sans to rest his head on top. So his cheek bone was pressed against the side. And by now, there was another face pressed against the glass on the inside. Papyrus had grown considerably, and now had a recognizable skeleton form. He no longer had space to move much in his jar, but he was as close to Sans as he could possibly be.

A rhythmic thumping broke the silence. Faint at first, Gaster's footsteps were unmistakable as they approached. The previously energetic stomping was now reduced to a lethargic march down the stairs to the basement. Also lethargic was the way Gaster blasted the door open with a mighty kick of science. He lingered in the doorway as he mentally balanced the exhaustion of a long day at work and his enthusiasm for parenting. His posture drooped, his bony hands clutching a bag of fabric, Gaster looked over the scene of unfathomable cuteness before him. Sans woke up as quickly as an ancient computer, eyesockets rising open as if against an immense gravitational force. He continued to snore softly until his eyes were about halfway open. All of his stubby limbs were wrapped around the jar. And Papyrus...

Gaster screamed. He flew across the room, tossing the bag aside in his haste. His white pupils flashed like twin moons in his eyesockets, visible despite how tired he was. This was serious. He stood over the jar, panicking, as Sans remained completely oblivious to the crisis. Oh God, it wasn't supposed to happen this fast. Gaster lowered his hands to the jar and gently maneuvered them around Sans' arms to get a good grip. He lifted the jar into the air and Sans plopped down limply onto the counter in a chubby heap. Gaster held Papyrus' jar inches from his face as he examined it as thoroughly as possible.

It was just as Gaster feared. Papyrus was too big for the jar.

He cradled it in one arm and took off the lid. But Papyrus' head would definitely not fit through the opening. He would not even attempt it. Now was the time for desperate measures.

Gaster reached out and pushed Sans a few feet to the side. Sans had no objections. Then the scientist raised the jar high over his head. Swiftly and with no hesitation, he smashed it on the countertop.

"Dunk," commented Sans.

Exactly as Gaster had calculated, Papyrus was perfectly unharmed. The jar broke into large and manageable chunks of glass, and neatly framed the newbone skeleton in a puddle of clear and faintly red liquid, as if it was arranged that way.

Still, Gaster was terrified for his son's well-being. His hands hovered over the baby for an indecisive moment, before he scooped him up from the puddle of liquid. He gazed at Papyrus and assessed the damages. His skull was flat on the sides and top from the shape of the jar, but he would grow out of that with time. His eyesockets were asymmetrical. He had disproportionately small legs. In other words, Papyrus had developed perfectly.

Gaster smiled in relief. Everything turned out perfect. His smile grew and he began to giggle uncontrollably. He had another son! He had done it again! Papyrus was such a beautiful baby! Gaster was overcome with joy. He hadn't felt so happy since Sans' birth, or the first time he used the determination extractor.

Sans, who was watching with some degree of attention the whole time, began to inch his way toward Gaster. He wriggled across the countertop, not quite putting in the effort to crawl. As he reached the broken glass he slowed, but he persisted. Sans wriggled all the way to where his brother was. He pressed himself against Gaster's hands and rested there, content for now.

The skeleton scientist was giving his new son an introduction to the world in many, many syllables. Papyrus squinted his eyes open a bit, and Gaster slowed down his speech into recognizable words. At last, Papyrus' eyes fully opened. Gaster froze. "Ah. Pupils." He moved one foot across the floor blindly until he felt a familiar tin. He lightly kicked it away. "I knew I was forgetting something."

This reminded him that there were more important things to do than admire his new baby. He searched the lab and found the bag of fabric he had brought home. He lifted it with telekinesis, as he held Papyrus with both hands, and brought it to the desk with him. Lifting a little red blanket out of the bag, he bundled up the baby as his first-bone son watched from across the room. He set Papyrus on the desk and began to write the first journal entry for him. Between long glances at Papyrus, he took note of the baby's physical attributes and disposition. Papyrus was much more attentive than Sans, watching Gaster's every movement with curiosity. Gaster could hardly contain his excitement.

While the scientist was writing his last page of notes, he looked to Papyrus with purpose. "Now, Papyrus," he said, "This household has some very important rules that you must follow. Number one." He continued to speak without once looking at what he was writing, and yet the wingdings were as precise as if they were typed. "No destruction of property without my express consent. Number two: Serifs will not be tolerated. Number three." Papyrus met his gaze with absolutely no understanding. "Do not interfere with other -" Gaster stopped himself. He watched silently for any reaction from Papyrus. The tiny skeleton smiled back at him, completely oblivious. "With experiments," he continued. "Number four..."

Sans sat on the counter where his brother had been. His eyes slowly homed in on Papyrus' location and focused on the little red bundle sitting on the desk. The gears began to turn. He squirmed toward the edge of the counter, toward Papyrus. He reached the edge and kept going. Behind Gaster's back, the baby skeleton fell like a lead weight in absolute silence.

"...without first submitting a written statement of your intent," Gaster finished. He grinned at the baby before him. Papyrus grinned back. There was absolutely no understanding between them. The lab was utterly still save for the sound of Gaster's writing.

Suddenly, Sans landed on the desk between them with a thud. "Butter," he grunted. Gaster was speechless as Sans wriggled to Papyrus and threw his tiny arms over him. Sans' eyes relaxed into their default position; he was happy now. "Butter."

Gaster was stunned. He whipped around to look where Sans was, and back to the desk. Realization dawned upon him, and a proud smile crept onto his face.

"Sans," he murmured. "You're a little butter-fly, aren't you?" Sans chuckled reflexively at his pun. And then he heard a new sound. He looked down at Papyrus, under his brother's little arms, and saw that the little skeleton's face was scrunched up with emotion. Gaster leaned in close, eager to hear him.

"Nyeh," Papyrus squeaked.


End file.
